


Music

by Rayne



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayne/pseuds/Rayne





	Music

Fingers worn and calloused, abused from years at the mercy of her guitar, finding solace only in the same strings that had wronged them time and time again. It was the only way to make them stop jerking, to give them a purpose, and they would always come back, no matter the cost. They needed that purpose to keep on. In a dull sort of way, they reminded Vriska of herself and Eridan.

The way she thought it was far less poetic, less mush and sentimentality and more of a dry fact of life. The things that were most worth it were the worst for you, she thought, and that made them the best. You could get hurt, you could do the hurting, but in the end, the scars only made you more you. They only defined you, gave you another little piece of yourself to tuck away and know was your own, and they wound up healing better than anything you had ever had before. It hurt and you loved it, and it wasn’t in the least bad. It just had to hurt to be so beautiful, because that was the cost to have something that was perfect.

Her best friend was like a guitar. She could pick him up and never let go, and pluck at him until he was dry and dead, and he would let her. And he would hurt her in return, those little jabs that she didn’t notice until she was already rough and bloody, and try as she might she just couldn’t mind. She didn’t want to mind, because together they were so perfect, and together they could pull in the world and make it theirs. They could mold it and shape it into whatever they wanted, and the world would be their song. And so they could hurt each other, push and pull until they were miserable and full of resentment, and it would never stay there. The taut strings would loosen, and the bloody fingers would heal. And they couldn’t do anything but love it.

She thought all of these things, guitar balanced on her lap as she strummed, but she couldn’t quite find the words to tell him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to, with how opened it would make her feel. With everything they were, naked and honest was not part of it. They could see what they needed, but they couldn’t say it.  
And so her music did it for her.


End file.
